I'm Not Your Boyfriend, Baby
by tempus terere
Summary: Unsurprisingly, it's a bet that changes their lives. — DawnPaul
1. Part 1 to 18

**Title:** I'm not your boyfriend, Baby**  
Wordcount:** Originally it was meant to be a nice 5,000 words one-shot and it has developed into a 8,550 words large monster. And this is only the first half.**  
Warnings:** Disturbingly long, (sometimes abruptly) changing perspectives and cryptic wording (don't blame me for any confusion). Also, there be HOMOSEXUALITY. You have been warned.**  
Disclaimer:** Not mine.**  
Summary: **Due to a bet Dawn has to make Ash's (hot) new colleague and friend her permanent boyfriend within one month. It's just a shame that neither Paul's personality nor his sexual orientation are what she imagined them to be like. Two-shot. AU.**  
Notes:** For Paper-Dreamers, whose birthday was already a month ago and who deserves so much more, but I'm sadly a cheap procrastinator. Love you, girl, and don't let all that stress get to you. :)

_Part 1_  
Sunday, June 5th  
Turmoil

"Hey, that guy over there's hot!"

"_Dawn_", I groan. "I have heard this sentence already over twenty times in the past fifteen minutes."

"I can't help it that Ash only has handsome friends", she pouts childishly, crossing her arms over her chest. I sigh. Why do I put up with her again? If only Drew were here, then her endless flirting wouldn't be all that annoying. Damn him and his stupid work times.

"Oh my God!" Not again.

"Look at him!" Dawn hisses, erratically pointing at the crowd of celebrating people in front of us. I can't see anyone particularly eye-catching.

"Him who?" I try not to sound too bored while she shoots me the ultimate 'WTF?'-look. I cock an eyebrow in response. Dawn shakes her head, muttering something about me not being able to see true beauty or something along those lines--I can't really bring myself to care.

"Him over there", she tries again. "With the purple hair and the sexy scowl."

I skim through heads of people in hope of catching a glimpse of something purple. One would think that this task shouldn't be too difficult, regarding the fact that purple isn't really a common hair colour. Yet I cannot find anyone matching that description. Turning back to the blunette beside me, I repeat my earlier question.

"Are you stupid or blind?" she asks, gesturing wildly in various directions. Maybe she's just made up this new hot guy to annoy me? "He stands right next to Ash." I turn my head once more to the mass of partying people to find out that said man actually exists. He's really standing right beside Ash, though I wouldn't say he's got a 'sexy scowl' but an evil glare that could cause small children to cry out and run away in fear.

"Isn't he the hottest thing?" While talking she's got that glint in her eyes that tells me she won't be going home alone tonight. I'm seriously doubting it'll be him, though.

"No." And you shouldn't lie to your friends when it concerns potential love interests, right?

"You're supposed to be saying that. After all you have a lovely husband", Dawn scoffs. "I, on the other hand, have yet to find my match. Although I have a good feeling that tonight will change everything." Her eyes and cheeks are glowing with every word she says. Personally, I think she's crazy.

"That guy's supposed to be the one?", I snort half-heartedly. "I bet he never smiles in his entire life."

"You wanna know what _I'm_ betting on? I bet he's going to be my permanent boyfriend within one month!" She shouts angrily, causing a few bystanders to look up and stare in confusion. She doesn't seem to care, and I don't really either, because I actually start to find this idea of a bet interesting. Especially since I know she's going to lose.

"Okay, I'm in," I smirk. She is so going regret ever taking the word 'bet' in her stupid naïve mouth. "But if you lose, you have to finally agree to dating Kenny." Within seconds the colour of her face's skin has changed from a rosy pink to pale white, while her eyes are widening to the double of their original size.

You see, Kenny Waters is helplessly in love with Dawn. Usually, that wouldn't be much of an issue if there weren't a few tiny problems. First, he doesn't really hide his affection towards her. In fact, he practically drowns her in it every time they meet, which is a quality she isn't all too happy about. Second, Kenny's one of her ex's. They were together in high school, but as they were about to do 'it' for the first time she fled out of panic and that's how they ended. Or should have ended: Third, Kenny is in absolute denial and still begging her for a second chance. But Dawn _really_ doesn't like him in that kind of context anymore. (This is, by the way, also partly the reason why she moved from her hometown Twinleaf to Petalburg.) So, every time Dawn hears that Kenny is in town, she immediately takes a trip to some very distant island or coincidentally catches a 'cold'.

"For at least two weeks," I finish, drawling out the words as if savouring them.

"Y-you're joking," she chokes out, perhaps still harbouring the idea that I am.

"No," I simply shrug and turn away from her with an extra bored look on my face to lure her out. I know she'll say yes. She wouldn't be herself if she didn't. Dawn Lexington never backs away from a challenge.

"B-but Kenny is—"

"A very fine young man and highly interested in you."

Dawn glares at me furiously. I can practically feel that she's plotting something for revenge. "Fine," she spats, colour gradually returning to her cheeks. "But if you lose, you have to work at my part-time job for the exact same time." She smirks and winks at me in mockery. I don't believe it. She cannot be serious!

"Dawn, you know I hate that place," I (almost) plead. "There are perverts everywhere! I can't deal with the whistling and groping like you do!"

"Well, you know that I do not want Kenny in my life anymore!" Dawn shouts back, pointing an accusing finger at me. "So we're even!"

Because of our fight and loud voices people are starting to stare at us. But _Hell_ if I care. I have far more important things to take care of at the moment. That's also why I only half-notice Ash marching in our direction. A few people are curiously following him.

"Could you please stop?" he barks before any of us can say something and worsen the commotion. "You're ruining my party." Noting the way his eyes waver with lack of understanding and even a hint of hurt, I dare a quick look around. He's right, I realize. Everyone's watching now. A pang of guilt and embarrassment hits me. Dawn looks like she feels the same. We exchange an apologetic glance, before muttering quick but truthful excuses and pleading for Ash's forgiveness. He merely snickers, shakes his head and waves our watchers off dismissively. I guess this means we're okay now?

I am about to grab Dawn and retreat discreetly from the situation, as her hand is faster and grabs mine instead. I avert my gaze upwards to her, irritated. She shoots back a fierce look, which is, I guess, supposed to tell me that we are not done yet, rocking her head erratically in Ash's direction. I raise an eloquent eye brow, while her face grows vivid. I still don't get what the heck she wants as she continues to move her head like a total spastic.

"Dawn?" Ash inquires hesitantly. "Is everything okay?" His expression is currently changing between worry and amusement, as if he didn't know which to pick.

"Why, yes, I—"

"Ash," a deep and cold voice barges in. "Are those two friends of yours?"

A figure steps out of the crowd. It's Mr. 'Sexy' Scowl.

Suddenly realisation strikes me like rolling thunder. Dawn hadn't meant Ash, nor did she have an epileptic seizure. She had pointed at him who'd been behind Ash.

"Ah, Paul," Ash smiles sheepishly, sweating slightly. Oh no, I panic inwardly. We totally embarrassed him in front of that guy!

The man apparently called Paul glances at him briefly, before turning his attention back to us. Smugness is radiating from every single of his pores, I swear. How is Dawn able to find this man even remotely attractive? To me he seems just extremely rude. And there I thought that Drew is a jerk sometimes.

"And," Dawn warbles sweetly. "What if we are, Mr. . . . ?"

She is batting her eyelashes now.

Gods, she's at it again.

"Heartnet," answers Paul, blinking confusedly at her behaviour. Well, what do you know. There exist men who are actually immune against Dawn's flirting tactics.

One look at her tells me that she's equally shocked. The poor girl.

Returning to the conversation, Ash scoffs and gives Paul a smack on the back, who is everything but pleased by this. "Don't be so stiff," he laughs and shakes his head. "Man, this isn't business."

Paul glares. Dawn's mouth hangs open in disbelief. And so the evening continues. A little drink here, a tiny martini there and at midnight we are all officially sloshed. Well, except Paul. He's just had a few glasses of wine. I, however, am dead drunk and my mind is fogged with a bubbly warmth. Dawn's probably is too but I can't say for sure because I haven't seen her in a while. She's most likely together with some hot studs and lets herself getting comforted for her earlier defeat(s) against Paul. (Although she's tried _everything_ to get his attention and/or maybe even his phone number she failed to receive any kind of reaction from him.) Truth be told, it was pretty funny.

I giggle at the memory and take another sip of my . . . whatever I am drinking, as two strong arms grab me from behind and pull me up from my seat. I'm so surprised almost spill my (by the way very tasty) drink over my dress.

"Drew?" I blurt out, dumbfounded. Somehow he's the last person I expected to see.

"We're going home," he announces apathetically and nonchalantly snatches the glass out of my hand. I whine.

"But I dun wanna go yet! I'm havin' fun!"

"Yes, but every fun has to come to an end," he retorts, annoyed now. But my brain is too plastered to notice that so I continue to resist. Without much success though. His grip is too strong for me to escape out of.

"You're drunk," he says, clearly stating the obvious.

"Am not!" I (still) try to deny despite all the evidence that is saying otherwise. And—as if on cue—a hiccup slips out of my mouth. "Maybe a lil'." I give a helpless laugh.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "We're going home," he repeats and is already dragging me in the direction of where I believe the exit is situated, when a thought strikes my dull mind.

"What about Dawn?" I ask defensively, finally able to free myself out of his tight grip, and halt. I know he's my husband and just wants my best and all, but does he have to hold me _that _tight?

Drew turns around and arches an emerald brow. "Haven't you noticed?" he scoffs.

I stare at him, bewildered. "Noticed what?"

"She's already left," he tells me and I can hardly grasp it. _She's already left?_ What's that supposed to mean? Looking at me disbelievingly, Drew shakes his head. "Didn't she message you or something? Anything?"

I shake my head. "Where's she?"

Before replying, Drew mumbles something about someone being an impossible friend—I assume he's referring to Dawn. "When I arrived Ash told me some guy offered to drive her home and she agreed. That was already one hour ago."

I'm about to respond with an disbelieving 'psh' but the serious way Drew looks at me with tells me he is not really in the mood for joking. "That cow. Who wa'she with?"

And then Drew snaps, takes my had and strides with wide steps to the waiting taxi outside, pulling me (not all too gently, might I add) along.

_Part 2_  
Sunday, June 5th  
Prolix

Earlier that night, Dawn Lexington felt very disturbed and outright offended.

He can't do that. There must be some kind of rule or something that permits him from doing that, right? she cried inwardly.

Apparently he can, a calmer and probably also wiser voice in her head answered.

He (she didn't even want to say—not to mention THINK—his name anymore) didn't show any sign of agreement to kissing me or having hot sex in the broom closet with me, a third voice continued, genuinely scared. Not even a drink, a phone number, a word, an anything!

Before she could drown herself _completely_ in denial (like the first voice had tried) and just go on pretending that this was not happening and thereby blissfully defying the ugly reality, an alarming insight kept a hold of her and did not let her go.

He was rejecting her. He was really rejecting her.

No matter how she tried to pronounce it in her mind, it didn't sound right. It was abnormal. It couldn't be happening. No, not to her. It—

No, Dawn, she mentally scolded herself, (again) successfully ignoring that there were multiple voices in her head arguing with themselves. We're finished with the denial crap. Onto the next step.

But what was this supposed next step? She had never had to deal with these sort of things. Usually, she got what or who she wanted, and it had never mattered to her how impossible it may have seemed. Yet here was this man and he acted like he didn't even care. Even worse: What if he didn't act at all? What if he _didn't_ care? What if he genuinely didn't give a flying flip?

Nah, the denial—currently back from his quite short exile—reassured her. That's not possible.

So she tried again. And failed again.

There had to be some way to do this, she was sure of it. This was a bet she couldn't _afford_ to lose. May would actually make her go on a date with that dork (Granted, he was a nice dork but definitely not boyfriend material. She'd been there, seen that.) and that was something she had sworn never to do again; _ever_.

Thus, with that new founded motivation, Dawn was ready to throw herself back into battle, as she liked to call it, when she had to realize Paul was gone. At first, she didn't give it much thought and began to look for him, but when she didn't find him after thirty minutes had passed already, worry kicked in. Not because she was concerned that something might have happened to him,--oh no, for that he had been way too much of a jackass toward her—but because of the image of a date with Kenny that was still present in the back of her mind.

So she asked around if someone had seen him, yet no-one ever seemed to have a clue. It was as if Paul Heartnet had vanished into the void without leaving even the tiniest trace behind.

_Part 3_  
Monday, June 6th  
Lyricism

_Rrriiiinng. Rrrriiiiiinnng. _

Ugh.

_Rrriiiinng. _I moan. Whatever this noise is, it _has_ to stop. Is it even morning yet?

I open my eyes. _Rrriiiinng. Rrrrriiiiiiiinnng._

Yes, it definitely is. That fucking sunlight is shining directly into my eyes. Why aren't the curtains closed, anyway? What do we have these things for when we don't close them—

_Rrriiiinng._ _Rrrriiiiiinnng._ OK, someone needs to shut this damn thing off. Whatever it is.

I shift. God, my head hurts. I feel so rough. What the Hell happened last night? I shift once more. This is it. I'm never drinking again.

_Rrriiiinng._

After waiting a few moments for someone to stop the noise, I reluctantly sit up and take in my surroundings. I'm in our bedroom, the morning sun giving it a kind of yellow-pink-ish glow I could very well live without at the moment.

_Rrriiinnng. Rrrrriiiiiiinnng._

In search for the source of the horrible noise I lift myself up off of the bed, noting with a frown the sore and numb feeling of my body. I then realize what that annoying ringing is. Still frowning and with wobbly feet, I head toward my jacket which lies just a meter away on the floor, crumpled, and dig for my cell. When I find it, I don't bother to check on the LCD display who the person calling is. I already have a vague idea regarding that.

"This better be important."

"Oh great, a friendly voice." Comes the deadpan reply.

"Dawn, what do you want in," I quickly glance at my alarm clock, "nine in the freaking morning?" I cannot believe she's calling me this early. Isn't there a law against this or something?

A couple of seconds pass before she answers. "I need your help. You have to pick me up."

"No."

"What?" she squeaks, sounding genuinely shocked. It's all I can do not to snort.

"No."

"But . . . why?" Her voice leaks with obviously fake sadness, with which she wants to lure me into driving to wherever the Hell she is and bringing her home. I, however, am immune to such tactics. This is, if nothing else, what I learned out of being with Dawn for my whole life.

"There's no why," I respond, although not completely truthful. Of course, there's a why. I'm not helping her because it's nine a.-_fucking_-m. and that's practically still in the middle of the night. Enough said.

"See? That's why you should be helping me," she tries further. I have to admit that, no, I don't see it.

"Why's that?"

"Because you don't seem to have a reason not to!" she shouts, more childish than Ash could ever manage.

I snort. I giggle. I laugh--in fact, I'm hollering with laughter, whereas my skull cries for at least three aspirins. And that's where it all (including our more than stupid conversation) should have ended. Instead, I put some clothes on, boil myself a quick coffee-to-go and let Dawn guide me to where she is. Because that's how it's always been and I am not the type to break old traditions.

_Part 4_  
Monday, June 6th  
Maelstrom

It must've been around five thirty when he first noticed something was off. He was too tired to check what, though, so he let sleep embrace him once more. He had, after all, plenty of time left before he had to get to work and he was pretty worn out from last night.

When he awoke for the second time, (it was about ten to seven, although he didn't know that) he bumped against something warm and soft, which wasn't all too surprising regarding the fact that he was lying in a bed, yet it wasn't a pillow. It felt more like bare skin. He hesitated for a moment, considering the possible answers as to why someone other than him would be in his bed, but they were too absurd to actually be the truth, so he dismissed them, turned on the other side and slept some more.

It was the third time he woke up that he truly acknowledged something strange was going on. Not only was he touching skin now, but two arms were wrapped around his waist and he was positively sure he felt a pair of _breasts_ pressing itself against him.

This was so wrong, he did not want to look at what or who was snuggling up to him. His manly pride, however, told him to do it anyway, since he couldn't ignore it for forever. Thus, Paul Heartnet--a man who thought of his pride as something holy and therefore always listened to what it said--opened his eyes, let them adjust to the light that was coming out of the gap between his curtains and then, rather reluctantly, forced his attention on the person that was hugging him.

For a moment he seriously wanted to scream.

Not because it was that woman who had so desperately tried to get his attention last night (he had only remembered that she was one of Ash's annoying friends, there had been too many of that category to actually memorize her name), although he did wonder why she was here, or because it was a woman at all,--there could've lain a gay clown for all he cared, though he preferred this woman over the former--but because she was stark naked. And so was he.

Paul wasn't quite certain what shocked – or rather scared – him more.

_Part 5_  
Monday, June 6th  
Inordinate

"So," eagerly, I take another big sip of my cappuccino (which I am, by the way, SO not going to pay. _She is._) "He kicked you out?" I try to stifle the giggles that are currently escaping from my mouth, but it's really hard. I cannot help letting them out.

After driving to where she was, we went into a café, so Dawn could explain what had happened, and I can tell you, it's better than any comedy movie.

"Don't you dare laugh," Dawn snarls, gritting her teeth in a manner that's only making my condition worse.

"Sorry," I snicker, though we can both tell by just looking at me that I don't mean it. "But your story's just so ridiculous. I mean--you getting thrown out by a guy? How hilarious is that?"

Dawn growls and clenches her fists until her knuckles turn white. Seemingly, she doesn't take getting turned down so well. "Shouldn't you be worrying about my feelings instead of making fun of me?"

This does it. I can't take it anymore and burst into a fit of laughter.

"May!" She hits the table with both of her fists.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I manage to choke out and rub the tears out of my eyes.

"Why can't you take me seriously?" she pouts, almost looking like a first grader, and therefore kind of contradicts herself.

"Are you kidding? I think it serves you right," I snort and nip at my coffee to hide my grin. "It's about time you got rejected. Before I met Drew, I have been too. A lot, in fact."

"Exactly that's the point," she snaps and throws her hands up in the air. "You already got rejected so many times that you got used to it, but usually I'm the one who does the rejecting. I don't know how to deal with it, so console me, dammit!"

Although I honestly don't know why, a part of me really feels kind of guilty for 'making fun of her'. "The reason you tried to get close to him was our bet, remember? You weren't even serious about him, Dawn," I attempt to remind her and myself, in order to calm my bad conscience. Dawn glares. I gulp. "You weren't, were you?"

"May," she says quietly. It feels like she's scolding me. "The thing between Kenny and me is over, but he's still my friend and it wouldn't feel right if I went out with him for two weeks and then dropped him again. That's why I cannot lose this bet."

I am truly and utterly flabbergasted. I expected _everything_ but this. She doesn't want to hurt Kenny! And here I believed I knew everything about her and her thoughts. (I was convinced they all consisted of boys, shopping and, occasionally, her job.) Now I really feel bad.

For a few minutes, there hangs a heavy silence above our heads and neither me nor Dawn seem to quite know how to break it. Since it was me who was so silly and assumed her to be a lot more superficial than she actually is, I decide that it's also my turn to tear down the wall of awkwardness between us.

"I'm sorry, Dawn," I state clumsily and stare at my half-empty cup of coffee. I know that this is not enough to lighten up her mood, but what else is there for me to—

"But you didn't lose completely yet!" I suddenly blurt out, not only surprising Dawn and everyone else in the café but myself as well. Dawn looks at me as if I've grown a second head. "You've still got a month, right?" I'm not even sure why I'm so enthusiastic about this. I'm supposed to root _against_ her and not _for_ her.

Dawn's expression brightens. "Now I only need a new tactic to seduce him . . ."

Oh fan-flippin'-tastic. If this continues, I might actually lose this thing.

_Part 6_  
Wednesday, June 8th  
Waylay

Paul is and has ever since he could remember been a hard worker. There is nothing else in this world that he spends more time on. Constantly, he is transfixed on how to improve and make his results even more efficient. The motivation for that is his everlasting pride; he doesn't have a dream or a wish. In his opinion, those are for (day)dreamers who will never achieve anything. He merely wants to get better and better, in order to be able to surpass his brother one day. And he knows this day will come, so this is neither a dream nor a wish.  
It is but a goal which surely will be reached.

A goal that has recently been put on halt due to the most unlikeable co-worker in the history of co-workers.

Really, how rude can one possibly get? Paul seriously wonders, since this man crashes every single boundary and is therefore—he never thought he'd think this—even more annoying than Ash, the ultimate master in bugging the crap out of somebody.

"Hey, Paul!"

Speaking of the devil. Or rather saint. Because right now Paul is too grateful for being freed out of that dreadful conversation by the stupid idiot to be angry at him like he normally would be. (When he answers the other's call, he still sounds like prick he is, though.)

"You have a visitor!" Ash exclaims excitedly.

Paul raises an eyebrow. He has never had a visitor at work before. And, by all means, why would he expect one? Most people seem to be of the opinion that he is a cold and heartless asshole, which results in a very limited number of friends (not that he minds all too much), so he is genuinely interested when he inquires, "Who?"

"Look for yourself," is everything Ash says, whilst grinning wickedly, and points with the sandwich in his hand at the glass door of Paul's office. Behind it there stands his last night's nightmare and today morning's torture squashed together in one human being.

_Part 7_  
Wednesday, June 8th  
Sagacity

Dawn had to admit her plan was ingenious.

It was so great she almost had the urge to pat herself on the shoulder, but eventually let it be, since people were around and she didn't feel like making a total moron out of herself. Still she was very proud. She'd even managed to wait for a few days, like May had suggested, before coming here and executing her master plan instead of rushing things. It hadn't been that bad either, because it had given her time to go to the spa and Harley, her and May's personal hairstylist. Okay, she _had _been pretty fidgety, but hey, she had said to Misty, Ash's sort of kind of almost girlfriend, on the phone yesterday, after having consumed two boxes of pralines and three glasses of rum. It's the first time I actually, hic, have to fight for, hic, a guy so it's okay that I'm, hic, nervous, right?

To that Misty had barely answered that she should cut down on the alcohol and hung up.

Dawn had not followed Misty's advice. Which had resulted in a major headache when she'd been woken up by her alarm clock at nine thirty. She had still looked beautiful, though, so it hadn't mattered much to her. As long as she was pretty and everything worked out like she had plotted, she didn't care about anything today.

Well, except for the time. Uneasy, she glanced at her watch. It was ten past one and she was waiting for an elevator to come that would bring her to the eighth floor, where her target was currently having lunch. Or not having lunch, but rather burying himself with contracts while occasionally nipping at a pitch-black coffee, as Ash had described it to her when she'd demanded him to tell her Paul Heartnet's work times.

Finally the lift arrived and she hurriedly scurried inside, inadvertently stepping some CEO on the foot.

_Part 8_  
Wednesday, June 8th  
Sallow

"Send her away," he orders, hoping the other won't notice his voice is slightly higher pitched than usual.

"What?" Ash, a.k.a. 'the other', asks, a little dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Just do it, okay?" And it's really all he wants at the moment. For once he even chooses something over his holy pride. He'll do anything in order not to have to talk to that woman.

"No, you jerk," Ash retorts, his voice rather noticeably rising in volume. "I won't! Why the Hell should I?"

Paul takes a sip of his coffee, which gives him time to think up a way to get that little idiot to cooperate. He needs him to. If he doesn't, he won't have another choice but to go over to that pest and have a conversation with her. She will hook her arm into his and press her chest against him and then she will invite him to dinner and perhaps to even more.

He is sure she will, he knows these kinds of women. They'll try everything to have sex with you, force you into a relationship and get you to spend all your money on them. This is (mostly) why he detests all females, dates and parties. The only reason he attended the one on Sunday evening was because Ash, the little twit, had begged him to and, oddly enough, he hadn't been able to refuse.

It always ends up like this when the moron wants him to do something and the only explanation he can come up with is that he secretly somewhat likes him. When this idea had first crossed his mind about two months ago, approximately two weeks after they had first met, he had been shocked to his bones and not talked to the boy (because in all honesty, despite his age, Ash is nothing more) for a week and a half until he came to accept this weird new development. It had taken various amounts of talking on his brother's side, like how it was okay to bond with other people and that not everyone was out to get him, and a few smacks on his head. He had had to come to the conclusion that this logic wasn't all too absurd so he returned to work and everything went back to normal.

Kind of.

Now that Paul knows of his strange affection (he still shudders every time he thinks of the word) towards the freshly turned twenty-six year-old, he can't help but check him out sometimes; for example when Ash bends down he just _has_ to look at his butt. Like right now at this very moment, as he picks up his sandwich from the floor, which has accidentally slipped out of his hand in his fit of rage from not a minute ago. His jeans really make his rear look even better than nor—

Wrong time, Paul scolds himself, angry that such a frivolous thing can distract him so easily. Fantasizing about Ash's behind can be done after the problem over there is solved.

Reluctantly, he averts his attention to the blunette out in the corridor, who, he notices, keeps nervously looking at her watch every other second. Like she can't wait to see me again, he muses absentmindedly, still wondering how to bring the idiot to make her go away. Well, I think she does have to wait. For eternity. (1) Believing that he has found a solution for his problem, he sets down his mug and says, "Because I will treat you to an all-you-can-eat buffet if you do."

That takes the other aback and makes him ponder. "Fine," he agrees after a pause. "I'll do it." Trust Ash to do anything for food.

Inwardly, Paul smirks (because smiling is just something he doesn't do, not even for the twit) from ear to ear, whereas outwardly he merely answers with an acknowledging nod and takes another gulp of coffee.

"You better not forget what you just said!" shouts Ash as Paul watches him leave from the corner of his eye. You better not screw up, he silently calls after him.

_Part 9_  
Wednesday, June 8th  
Disapproval

"Hey, you look kind of down. Is everything all right?"

I'm almost angry at him for reading my mind so easily, but then again I'm grateful. After all Drew's my husband. Maybe he can help me? "It's the bet between me and Dawn."

"What about it?" he asks and I can tell from his features that he's a little confused. All he did was laugh when I told him about it. He doesn't know how serious me and especially Dawn are about it.

"She's getting kind of crazy over it," I reply awkwardly, reflecting what Ash has told me earlier this evening.

"Ah, you mean what she did today?" I nod. "C'mon, don't waste too much thoughts about it. Nothing serious happened after all."

"You call getting kicked out by security and nearly getting a restraining order 'nothing serious'?" I shoot back louder than intended, but he stays calm. It makes me mad. Why won't he realise that this situation is _beyond_ serious?

"Now, now," he chuckles and flicks his hair. Doesn't he know I hate it when he does that and it'll only make me angrier? "No need to vent your frustration on me."

I bite my lip. Okay, so maybe he's got a point there. Still he should be worrying about Dawn as well. This isn't just a game (anymore). "Well then, Mr. Know It All," I drawl out and send him a mocking sneer. "What do you think I'm supposed to do?"

"Well," he responds, a little too fast to my liking. "If you're so concerned about this, why not just give up and let her win by default?"

_Part 10_  
Wednesday, June 8th  
Greed

Meanwhile, Ash Ketchum is facing one of the hardest decisions of his life.

Pick up the phone or not pick up the phone?

A mind challenging question indeed.

"Ash, could you please get the phone?"

And with this it's solved, as usual. As soon as Misty comes into the equation, there is only comply to what she says and live _or_ refuse and die as the options and honestly, at hardly twenty-six life has merely started and is way too precious to throw it away just like that.

Thus he does as he's told. "Hello, K-Ketchum here."

"Hey, Ash! It's me—Dawn!" He feared as much.

"Oh hey, Dawn," he says nervously, knowing this conversation is to be his downfall. "What's up?"

"Oh nothing much," she replies as casually as she can and it's really all in vain. "I just wanted to ask you something."

A-ha. Here it comes, he thinks and hopes lightning will accidentally cut off the line before she's able to say what she wants to.

"Could you maybe," she begins, smashing his hope to smithereens. "Throw a party for me?"

He's kind of taken aback. Though not less scared than before—has he forgotten yet another birthday? "Err, what? What do you mean 'for you'?"

Dawn giggles and Ash isn't sure he's going to like the reason why. "Not _for me_, silly," she snickers. "I want you to throw a party 'for me', as in I want you to throw a party as a favour for me. Get it?"

"Sort of." It's a lie.

"So will you do it?"

The answer is clear for him. Simply, because he knows she's plotting something for that stupid bet again and he isn't willing to mingle with that end up tangled up in it. The whole thing reeks of danger. Everything that refrains him from spitting out a childish "No way, Dawn!", hanging up and hiding in a dark corner until either May or Dawn give up is the dreading imagination of him being lynched by the two of them in case he actually dares deny them that party.

"Ash, are you there?"

"Unfortunately," he sighs and knows he's been tricked and captured. "But before I give you an answer, tell me why you even want me to make one."

"Well, you remember that bet-thing May and me have going on, right?" He squeezes his eyes shut. He knew it. He knew it and now the end is drawing near. "And, you know, I want you to organize a party and invite Paul to create an opportunity for me to . . . fix what I did wrong today."

Nauseous.

He feels nauseous. The memory of that encounter is still so very present in his head. _Screaming and fighting fill the air, whilst the security service tries to calm the commotion._

All for nothing.

He will not allow such a thing to happen again. It's too much for him, (one of these days, those girls will be the death of him, anyway, it's just a matter of time) he's not made for this drama queen shit.

"I'm not doing it."

"Whaaat?" Her voice sounds shrill and high. "Why?"

"You have to stop, Dawn," he insists firmly, yet almost as shrill as her. "Paul will never go out with anyone, not to mention you! He's heartless. And a total jackass."

Truth be told, Ash doesn't think Paul is _that_ heartless. Well, not anymore but that doesn't matter now. He just wants this all finally to be finished and done with.

_Part 11_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Gemini

He's moving fast, so fast he forgets where he's going. He's searching for something, anything, but the crowd blocks his sight. He is blinded by the light and all he remembers is darkness; dark jet-black hair, dark chocolate brown eyes, dark—

"Hi, Paul!"

The sudden, loud call of his name wakes him from his trance. But he cannot discern the difference because reality and illusion resemble each other like fraternal twins; they're both blackened with soot and so very, very dark.

He's tempted to taste them both.

"I'm surprised," the reallusion (2) exclaims and laughs. His cheeks are tinted more than just slightly crimson and he smells of vodka, tequila and beer. And Paul absentmindedly wonders if his drinking habits are the reasons for his small sized brain. "I didn't think you'd come."

He ignores that. (It's too late now. He's already contaminated, fallen so deep that surely he is beyond salvation. And he could never say no and just look away, for everything that is left after Hell are his ashes.)

"What is the purpose of this celebration again?"

"Nice to see you, too, asshole."

The way his brows furrow and the insult lacks its usual fire is information enough. There is nothing to be celebrated tonight.

_Part 12_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Toil

"Can you see him?"

I take a deep breath to contain the annoyance I feel bubbling up my stomach. "No, Dawn," I reply, grinding my teeth. I don't even get why she is so confident he is going to be here. He's probably at home now and thinking of new ways to steal lollipops of little children without getting sued. (I bet it's his secret hobby or something.)

She's ranting on and on about how he must be here somewhere and that she needs to woe him, no matter what--it's all not very interesting. So instead of listening to her self-pity monologue like a nice friend would, I advert my gaze to the mass of moving, sweating bodies all around us. The incredible amount of Ash's friends never ceases to amaze me. I skim through the partly familiar, but mostly foreign faces until something catches my attention.

I have to squint my eyes to make the image less blurry, but I'm hardly successful. It's too far away and the alcohol in my blood doesn't exactly _sharpen_ my eyes. Leaning forward, I try to get a better view of what I believe I'm seeing. It's _him_, I have to realise and am angry at that girl's incredible luck. It's really Paul and, Lord Jesus, is he smiling? Now I really am hallucinating, aren't I? Still I can't help but keep staring at the improbable scene that's presenting itself in front of me and reluctantly admit that maybe, and really just maybe, despite the vodka-cola, my eyes are working just fine.

"Dawn," I start and have to interrupt myself to gulp down the last remains of doubt. "Dawn, I think I found him."

_Part 13_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Return fare

"You didn't answer my question."

It isn't as if he particularly cares or anything, it's just that he knows Ash will feel uncomfortable if they stay in silence for too long. Even though he doesn't really give anything about that, either. It's just an old habit he never seems to grow out of.

"Oh don't worry about that," he grins and takes another (way too large) sip of his dark green shimmering beer bottle. "'s not important, so let's just have fun t'night!"

Fun is an emotion—and it's obvious to see—he is not feeling right now. But Paul stays quiet. If the twit wants to drink himself to oblivion, he won't stop him. (It's none of his business, anyway.)

And he smiles. Or at least he attempts to. It comes out more like a very menacing smirk/grimace, though.

He doesn't do it for Ash or for anyone else, but just because he can.

_Part 14_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Leper

We both gape at them, completely shell shocked. And what else are we supposed to do? It's not every day you see Mr. 'Sexy' Scowl being happy (okay, not _exactly_ happy, but let's not be fussy).

"This feels somewhat disturbing," I say, pulling a face.

This wakes Dawn from her daze and she shoots me a bewildered look. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Doesn't this just scream gay to you?"

There is a very disturbing silence and Dawn looks like she's about to burst into tears.

"Y-you don't think . . . " She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't need to, I easily understand what she wants to know without hearing the entire question.

"You can never be certain," I shrug and try my best to maintain my posture. Panicking now won't help either of us. "You'd have to talk to him to confirm it. Though I-I do think he could—"

"HE CAN'T!" A few people turn their heads at this. I groan.

"Dawn, I don't really need a repetition of what happened at Ash's last party so could you—you know— just be quiet?"

She simply over goes my request. I guess it's too much I'm asking for. "May, he cannot be—," she struggles with the word and it's not too hard to comprehend why. If I were her, I would be crying rivers already. "—gay."

_Part 15_  
Wednesday, June 8th  
Preside

"Hey, you little asshole!"

Yes, she was having the day of her life. How could she not? Her great, idiot proof plan was ruined, as were her chances of winning the bet and her target had just sent Ash to make her leave. (Of course, she had immediately realised that something had been wrong and after a couple of kicks in his gut he'd spilt everything. That coward.)

"Are you referring to me?" His Majesty, the King of Jerks, inquired, as if he were talking about how lovely the weather was today. He was driving her mad with his behaviour. Who did he think he was? Even if he was rich and successful, it didn't give him the right to just completely ignore her. She was beautiful, God damn it! She'd gone to the stylist, manicure and pedicure—all for him and he wasn't even remotely interested!

"Who else would fit that description?" She shot back loudly, but he remained unfazed, increasing her urge to strangle him with her black leather handbag.

"I don't know," he answered, apparently uninterested in the argument she was so eager to engage him into. He took a few papers from the stack beside his desk and began filing them away. Silently, he hoped this strategy would work better than the last ones had. Unfortunately for him, she saw right through it, although all she did was stare at him, jaw dropping. Her rage seemed to have momentarily frozen her. "Are you finished?"

Dawn huffed. "YOU FUCKHEAD," she exploded. "GET OVER HERE. GOD DAMN IT, COME HERE SO I CAN KILL YOU AND—STOP IGNORING ME!"

_Part 16_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Party-popper

We exchange worried (frightened?) and definitely uncertain glances, before turning our attention back to them. To him and his . . . whatever it is supposed to be.

"He just cannot be," she repeats, probably toying with the idea that if she continues to say it, it will come true in the end. On better, happier days I would've destroyed that hope of hers with ease, but right now it seems to be a too cruel thing to do.

"Maybe," I suggest quietly, softly. "Maybe you should just give up."

Her head snaps around, her face a pure display of shock mixed with righteous anger. "What," she snarls menacingly. "Did you just say?"

I send her a smile that most likely looks more like a leer than anything else and feels almost sad. "C'mon, even you can't change someone's sexuality."

Dawn is appalled by that logic, wants to retort something to defy it, yet not the quietest sound is leaving her mouth. After a couple of minutes of silent rambling, she begins to hyperventilate. When I attempt to stroke her back, she barks furiously, "I may not be able to change his sexuality, but you know what? You know what? I don't need to!"

And with that she stalks off into his direction and everything I can do is hope she'll come out alive.

_Part 17_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Parsimonious

There are many reasons as to why he hates parties. One of them is the fact that there are tons of random people everywhere and it's so fucking loud, you never find a peaceful spot, no matter how long you search.

And although he knows better, he tries to find one. In the end he discovers a small balcony that's (at least) half-decent to stay at. There is a stool, a tiny table and no-one else around besides himself. He slumps down on the chair and sighs, allowing himself a quick second of weakness and relief, before returning to his stoic act. It's then he notices that he isn't alone.

"What do you want?" he demands, though the usual fierceness is missing. Nothing is 'usual' anymore or making any sense. It has ceased to be a long, long time ago. Perhaps when he met the idiot, or perhaps when he saw that dreadful woman for the first time. He isn't sure which he would prefer. Heck, he's not even sure why he cares at all, why he's started to act human, and he still does it.

"Something you apparently can't give me," the other person replies. The figure is hard to make out in the dim light of the party mixed with the pitch-black of the night, but the silhouette and her voice are more than enough for him to know who's there.

He wants to ask her what the Hell she's doing here and if she has lost her mind (just like him). Even so, he lets it be. It won't change anything either way. "Go away," he orders and, unsurprisingly, she does not comply.

"I'm here to confirm a suspicion," she says, as if he wanted to know and she's just answering him. It feels like she wants to mess with him. (In some ways, she does.)

He pulls a poor try at ignoring her and inevitably fails, since here, on this dim-witted balcony, is really no such thing as distraction. "Fine," he growls, and again it's so much less firm than it would have been months ago. "Do whatever you need to. But then go."

Why he's offering deals now he doesn't quite know himself.

_Part 18_  
Saturday, June 11th  
Lathe

I am strong, she thinks, trying to talk herself into believing that she is. I can do it and this is _not_ the most embarrassing thing I've ever done.

She inhales, deep and long, to relax, before she finally says what she's originally come here for. "A-are you gay?"

Apparently this was wrong the question to ask, because, sure enough, he looks like he's going to chop her head off if she doesn't retreat immediately. She is, naturally, not intimidated (who would be?) and gladly takes that risk.

He doesn't respond right away, seemingly considering the options. "Yes," he smirks when he's finished thinking. "So leave me alone."

If nothing else, she expected him to say something like that, which doesn't help her at all. "If that's true," she breaths out, shakily, and genuinely wonders when this has started to get so intimate, so personal. "If that's true, then why did you sleep with me?"

He averts his gaze away from her to the dirty marble ground and glares at it and she thinks. She thinks, glaring at it won't do, it's not going to answer for you, knowing he wouldn't listen, anyway.

"What are you even doing all this for?"

It's a simple, though effective question. A smart tactic to avoid her. (But he cannot seriously believe her to be that stupid, can he?)

"That's clever, to answer with another question," she laughs and just can't depict why she sounds so bitter, so hurt. There is nothing between them, (there never was planned to be something in the first place), there are no feelings and it's not like they ever amounted to anything.

Again he doesn't say anything for several minutes. From the inside of Ash's flat music blares into their ears and they both wish it would just stop and, as an after thought, she regrets. She should have never come at all.

"You were available," he mumbles, out of the blue, and just kind of stares into space.

"What?"

"That night," he explains. "I slept with you because you were available."

"And that's all?" she wants to scream, but knows she has no right to. (Because really, what was she thinking?)

And of course that's all.

Tonight she and May leave early, politely excusing themselves, and May takes her home, while she continues to cry. And she doesn't even know why cares so much or why everything suddenly feels so stuffy, so hectic, so wrong.

(1) Insert evil laughter here.

(2) A mix between the words 'reality' and 'illusion'.

So this is the first half. It took me three months to write this and I hope the second one will be easier. Do drop reviews. Love and constructive criticism are as always highly appreciated, although I'm not going to change anything about this baby, 'cause it's awesome and we're in love. c; Flames will be ignored or, if I feel like it, answered with a mind-blowing BLA BLA BLA. Fear my wit.


	2. Part 19 to 30

**Notes:** Please review and tell me how I did. Because I'm subtle like that.

_Part 19_  
Sunday, June 12th  
Oblivion

When Dawn awakes the next morning, she feels sore and worn out and her body is aching all over. She's slightly disoriented at first, but then weakly remembers drinking whisky together with May and stuffing herself with comfort food. How long they proceeded to do this or what else they might have done she doesn't know and, if she's honest, doesn't really care about, either.

The sound of his voice, of its bored tone is haunting her and drowns out nearly everything besides. All that remains is pain and doubt. A combination—as she knows from experience—that is fatal.

But maybe, she muses, fairly aware that she's giving it much more thought than she should, maybe it's not even his fault, maybe it has been hers all along. Maybe it's everything he can give.

For a while she continues this train of assumptions, to entertain herself, but first and foremost to avoid any contact with May, who's, by the looks of the room, probably been already up for a while. At some point, though, she knows she will have to face her. So, at about eight o'clock, she finally dresses herself and heads out to look for her.

She finds her in the kitchen together with Drew.

They laugh, fool around and none of them utters just one word about the evening the day before. Until—

Out of nowhere, Lady Gaga's _Paparazzi_ begins to wail out of Dawn's jacket, which still lies on the sofa, crumpled and stained with tears and tequila. Quickly, she scurries over to pick up her cell. She doesn't even have time to say her name or a simple 'hello'.

"Dawn," a boyish and shrill-pitched kind of voice shouts, "I will kill you!"

For a moment she is too perplexed to answer anything to that. (It isn't everyday that someone calls her with a death threat as a greeting.)

"A-ash?" she dares ask, timidly. "Is that you?"

"OF COURSE IT'S ME," he roars. "WHO DID YOU EXPECT?"

Again she doesn't quite know what to respond and hesitates. "Um. Ash, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he asks, quietly—menacingly. "_What's wrong?_ I'LL TELL YOU WHAT'S WRONG. I JUST GOT KICKED OUT OF MY FLAT BY MY EX-GIRLFRIEND BECAUSE YOU MADE ME THROW THAT STUPID PARTY INSTEAD OF CELEBRATING OUR ANNIVERSARY WITH HER."

And she feels numb and hollow and very, very stupid. "Ash, look … I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO ME AND PRACTICALLY FORCED ME TO DO THAT—THAT _THING_."

Before she can say anything else, she is treated to the dial tone. She doesn't try and call back.

Instead she takes her things and goes, and ignores May, who persistently (and desperately) insists she should stay with them to divert herself from her rejection. (From Paul.)

Honestly, though. Dawn doesn't want that. She wants to be alone—_very_ alone—at home with some cheesy romantic movies and pralines. She wants to cry rivers as long as the Nile, she wants to forget all about him, although she very well knows she won't be able to.

She wants to die. To disappear.

_Part 20_  
Sunday, June 13th  
Togetherness

She didn't want Ash and Misty to break up.

_Part 21_  
June 14th to December 15th  
Sainted

The months come and go by, faster than anyone could have deducted and too sudden for her to comprehend.

It's winter now and the air biting and cold and Christmassy sweet at the same time. Every street is crowded with couples, united in young, dumb love, and mothers with their kids, who stare with stars and awe in their eyes at the colourful and bright decorations, created by avarice and consumption.

Unlike those children, Dawn has no attention left for those and stalks with steady strides toward home, hands buried deep in the pockets of her thick grey coat. Her throat is dry and burns in the aftermath of today's events. It's not like she isn't happy for Misty and Ash—she may have changed from a bubbly, naïve girl who likes pink into a quiet, calculating adult, but she never fully lost her sense of romanticism—still, the thought of them marrying is automatically linked to the conclusion that he is going to be there. The idea isn't particularly surprising her, but rather alarming and frightening her beyond belief.

Her pace speeds up, as does the anger she feels, the flaring shame of her own weakness.

_Part 22_  
December 15th  
Lattice

Unmoving and still as a statue, he stands on his balcony, barely dressed in a pair of lose, worn-out boxer shorts.

His gaze is directed at the blinking and sparkling skyline of (t)his city and his thoughts are even farther away—probably already out of the country by thousands of kilometres.

(He's been tricked, lured into this trap of humanity by the twit and now caught forever.)

And he wonders just what the heck he's supposed to do now. He knows, if this (whatever it truly is) continues to develop, his soul of concrete will be shattered and thrown to smithereens like the one of a young girl in love, and, without a heart as support, never be repaired.

But, if nothing else, he knows as well that he won't be able to let this or the twit go, because it makes him feel so very warm from the inside, he isn't even remotely bothered by the freezing cold surrounding him.

_Part 23_  
March 3rd  
Saleable

"You cannot be serious, Dawn!"

It's about the fiftieth time May has already told her this and Dawn has grown more than tired of it. She understands why May _can't_ understand, but she just wants this damn conversation to end and fall into her bed, into an ocean of dreams, which are, hopefully, more pleasant to be engaged in than reality.

"I'm sorry," she answers, her voice monotone. "Really, May, I am."

"That won't cut it, Dawn," May screams, so loud it causes Dawn's ears to ring. "Don't you get it? This is the most important day in her life and you as her friend should be part of it, _for crying out loud_!"

The ringing gets shriller and shriller with every syllable May utters and Dawn's head feels like it's about to implode. The pain poisons and numbs her brain as her eyes threaten to leak.

This needs to stop, this all needs to stop, she needs to die (maybe they all do)—

and with a force neither girl expected she slams the receiver down and goes to sleep.

_Part 24_  
March 5th  
Cessation

Nobody, neither Misty, nor Ash, nor Drew nor May, says anything when Dawn shows up at the wedding, anyway, slightly tardy and interrupting the whole ceremony in the process. She takes a seat at the very back as the fairy tale continues.

Only when she stands up to properly greet her newlywed friends, she realises who she has been sitting with.

Dawn gapes, like a goldfish without water, whereas Paul merely motions her to go out of the way. She complies, too quickly if she is honest with herself, but struggling would be stupid and childish and she has given up on those character traits already a long, long time ago.

For the rest of the day, she avoids him, flees and hides herself as soon as she glimpses only the tiniest veil of purple. Around eight she completely withdraws from the party to a deserted balcony. Or she believes it to be deserted, at least.

"What do you want?" Paul asks, kind of weakly, from the shadows where the disco-lights can't reach.

She has nothing to reply to this. The sheer impossibility of this all has (temporarily) frozen her.

"Well?" he demands, his voice slapping her in the face, hard, and wakes her out of her stupor.

And then she bursts into tears.

Suddenly the emotions she has kept bottled up until now are spilling out, unstoppably fast and powerful.

Expectedly, Paul does and says nothing. Instead he averts his gaze to the sky, a black and empty bowl with bright little spots tacked all over it, and exhales. Dawn continues to cry, loud and frantic and as if her life depends on it. In a way it does, because she's most certain that, if she swallows all this pain and recomposes herself now, she will fall apart. And she just can't grant him this kind of easy victory.

_Part 25_  
March 5th  
Lurk

After fifteen minutes or so she has finally stopped sobbing and begins to rub her eyes with her sleeves, leaving behind ugly black stains in her petrol coloured jacket.

"You're acting unbelievably childish," he informs her, whilst holding out a tissue.

She stares at him disbelievingly and almost appalled, like he has grown another limb, but takes it, anyway. When she is finished with snorting, she thanks him for his courtesy and yet can't resist the urge to retort that she is _not_ acting childish.

Paul merely scoffs at her haughtily and says, "Just look at you. You haven't changed at all."

Then something inside her snaps. This is enough, she thinks suddenly, he really doesn't know anything. As she crumples up the used tissue in her hands, her accurately manicured fingernails slowly dig themselves into her skin.

(Tonight she never looks back.)

_Part 26_  
March 6th  
Misfit

The next day, at pointedly four o'clock in the morning, he stands on her doorstep, dead drunk and with bloodshot swollen eyes.

To say that she is surprised would be the understatement of the century.

She instantly goes vivid and starts shouting. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" or "Are you nuts?" are only a fraction of the things she quite literally throws at him, but after five minutes of shrill ranting his patience wears thin and he kisses her.

The touch is agonizingly beautiful, but terrifyingly short, and when they part she can still feel the force he's radiating on her lips.

With shaking hands, she closes the door and wordlessly leads him to her bedroom. And although Dawn doesn't know what happened that he has decided to come to her like this, for now at least, she remains silent about it and allows herself to simply get lost in the moment, as they sink into the mattress together.

_Part 27_  
March 10th to 11th  
One-way Mirror

For the upcoming three days they both call in sick and spend most of the time in bed, never really talking to each other at all.

When she wakes up on the fourth morning she realises that this is nothing. Nothing she wants or can keep up.

She tells him so the day after.

"Paul," she begins, staring blankly at the clean, white ceiling. He lies somewhere beside her on the right, still tangled up in the remnants from the previous night. "Paul, we need to stop this."

He says nothing to this. (Perhaps he isn't even awake yet, she isn't quite sure.)

She goes on either way. "This won't work, you know. You don't like me and I, I—"

"Do you regret what we've done?" he puts in, startling her.

It's not that she is surprised about him finally saying something, but about the fact that there is a 'we'.

"Yes." It's half lie, half truth, but it doesn't really matter, actually. Someday this will have to end, anyway, and she wants to save herself unnecessary heartache. The pain she feels right now is already more than she can bear.

And he obeys; just stands up, gets dressed and leaves, briskly and cleanly and without any kind of indication that he is ever going to come back.

_Part 28_  
March 11th to June 17th  
Scourge

Dawn goes for a visit to her mother the next week. 'For an undetermined period of time', as she tells May's cell phone's mailbox, before entering the train and turning her back on reality.

If Johanna is surprised by her daughter's sudden appearing, she doesn't show it. She simply takes Dawn in (like every mother will) and asks how Ash and the others are. The subject men or her job are nonchalantly being over gone.

The remains of March Dawn mostly spends with Barry, an old childhood friend, (whenever he's at home) or running away from Kenny, who's somehow managed to find out that she's come back.

In April she and Barry begin to date. It's nothing serious or particularly intimate, just something to pass the time, to distract herself from the past. She does call and stay in contact with May and Ash, but, at large, this little utopia she's built herself here in Twinleaf is too tempting leave from.

_Part 29  
_June 17th  
Impact

On a hot evening in mid-June Johanna suggests to her daughter she should marry Barry.

_Part 30_  
June 17th to 18th  
Feasible

As fast and unexpected as she's arrived, Dawn's gone again. The only difference now is that she neither has a place nor a life to return to. (Two months living pretty much shut off from the rest of the world does that to a person.) Still, that doesn't explain why she's come to his place. (After all, she could have just checked in at a hotel, or something.) And yet here she is, inside Paul Heartnet's flat with a mug of hot, steaming Earl Grey placed in her hands, and sits on his couch.

They don't talk, don't mention what may or may not have happened the past couple of months, they just stare at each other, searching for something, anything to make them believe that this will last. And indeed, there, behind his pupils, beneath the blood-red brick walls surrounding his soul, Dawn can make out a flickering, faint glint and he, as well, seems to have found something. Even though, in all honesty, it doesn't matter at all, because, because—

love is for lucky idiots, anyway.

FIN.

Hope you enjoyed. See you in the next fiction if you like.


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